


faking truth

by SinginInTheRaine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Undercover, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinginInTheRaine/pseuds/SinginInTheRaine
Summary: This should have been just another undercover assignment. Playing Steve's wife should have been no big deal.It wasn't. And it was.





	faking truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).

Natasha was hiding in the bathroom.

No. She didn’t _hide_ from anything. Or anyone. She was just taking a moment to herself to make sure her mind was in the right frame. That wasn’t hiding. She did that all the time.

(She ignored the fact that she almost never used to have to do that when going undercover. Slipping into a role as someone else was as second nature as slipping into a new pair of shoes.)

She and Steve — or should she say, Shawn — had been on this assignment for three weeks, camped out in a nauseatingly cute two-bedroom house out in the suburbs with the literal picket fence and the green grass and the two cars in the driveway. Rumors had been swirling for a long time about the illegal weapons trade — with tech no human should have access to — being conducted right in the center of a sleepy little town, but they hadn’t had proof until twenty-two days ago when one of the low men in the organization was caught carrying weapons he most definitely shouldn’t have had and pleaded that he would turn in those above him if he could make a deal. The guy had names and dates, but it stopped just short of being enough, and if the higher-ups got wind of someone flipping, the weapons would be gone before anyone could blink.

Less than twelve hours later, Steve and Natasha were here, playing as Natalie and Shawn Spencer who had inherited this house from Natalie’s parents but were secretly drowning in debt and desperate for a way out. 

Five nights in, Shawn had “accidentally” had too much to drink at the local bar and confided all his deep dark secrets to the guy they suspected was in charge of the whole ring, begging him if he knew of any way to make extra money, explaining how Shawn would do anything. Natasha, for her part, had snuck into the suspected culprits’ houses to plant bugs to enable them to listen to almost everything that was said.

So now, three weeks later, here they were. Spending nights going through recordings and what video they could capture to see if there was anything that would lead them somewhere, and spending days pretending they were desperately in love, holding hands and taking walks and meeting the neighbors, all while trying to seem like they were hiding a sordid secret the entire time.

It was almost nice, for a mission that they knew would eventually go south and require more of the skills they were accustomed to using. She had gone undercover as someone’s girlfriend before or fiancée or mistress, but she had never been someone’s wife. And Steve seemed to delight in actually treating her like he would a wife. He made her breakfast in the morning and held her hand as they walked around the town. He would brush her hair out of her eyes when people were looking and kiss her on the forehead. They went out to dinner and snuggled together in a booth. They went to the movies and snuggled together in the theater. And the night before they had even made out in the car like teenagers (although Steve hadn’t gone any further that kissing her or stroking the areas of skin already visible. He refused to have sex with her for a mission, or even touch her in a way he deemed too intimate, even after she told him it wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before. She’d thought he would take that as a sign that she was fine with whatever they needed to do to keep their cover up, but instead he had looked at her in horror and told her he was sorry she had ever needed to do that for anything and she had ended up in the shower that night feeling out of sorts over something she had never had any real thought about before.)

At night, after they finished going through the day’s logs to see if they could find anything, they retired to bed together. The master bedroom was near the front of the house, and Natasha had insisted if they didn’t sleep together, someone might be able to tell. After all, if she and Steve were spying on them, they should never assume people weren’t spying on them back.

Most nights Steve let her lean against him as she slept, the way she always believed most married couples slept. But every morning when she woke up, he was already downstairs preparing her a lavish breakfast.

But this morning she had woken up earlier than normal. The sun hadn’t even started peeking over the horizon yet. But her thoughts were spinning and sleep wasn’t lingering, but when she opened her eyes, she realized she had shifted in her sleep and so had Steve, and now she was lying with her back to his chest, and his hands had settled gently over her breasts, touching her not hard but not lightly either. And his face was buried in her hair, and she could feel his lips at the back of her neck.

None of that was anything new to her in general. Men — even some women — had always touched her or kissed her and she had just stayed focused on the task at hand. But now that it was Steve’s hands touching her and his lips on her neck, the first thing she thought when she woke up and realized what was happening was that she wished he would do it more often.

Which was how she came to be in the bathroom, trying to pretend she didn’t hear Steve calling her for breakfast, the burner phone she was only supposed to use for emergencies tucked back in her bra, staring into the mirror and telling herself to get a grip.

But the conversation with Clint — who she had called out of desperation, even though she knew if Steve or Fury found out she had broken cover, they would kill her — kept running through her head.

“Natasha,” Clint had whispered on the other end of the phone, his tone low and comforting, or she thought he was trying for that but it was not working. “For the last time, there is nothing wrong with you.”

“I’m not focused,” she whispered back at him. “I’m compromised and I don’t know why.”

“You just told me everything you both have been doing. You have it under control.”

“But this morning …”

“ … Was just a reaction.”

“But I’m not supposed to …”

“You’re not supposed to what?” Clint said. “Love him? Because you probably should have done something about that a long time ago then.”

Natasha almost dropped the phone. “What?” she said, and she felt like Clint was talking to her in a language she had never heard before. “I don’t … I’m not … I don’t …”

“You love him, Nat,” Clint said. “It’s okay. It’s a good thing. Great actually. Laura says ….”

“What?” Natasha felt her voice start to rise, and she forced herself to lower it before she woke Steve up. “Laura thinks this too?”

“Everyone thinks this, Nat, it’s not a secret.”

Natasha gripped on to the phone. She felt like the world was spinning. Or maybe she was going to throw up. Maybe they were being poisoned and she was hallucinating. Maybe she really had a fever. Maybe …

“Steve loves Peggy,” she whispered to Clint. “He only wants her.”

“I don’t really see what that has to do with what I just said.”

Natasha glared at herself in the bathroom mirror, hoping the intensity would transfer itself to Clint over the line.

“I do not love Steve Rogers!” she hissed over the line. “I do not!”

And she punched the end button on the call before she could hear another word of Clint’s nonsense that he probably got because he and Laura had always watched way too many romantic comedies than were appropriate for anyone to watch.

But she still hadn’t gotten control of her breathing — or her emotions — before the inevitable knock came on the door and she felt her insides twist with a terror she never thought was possible.

“Natalie?” came Steve’s worried voice. “Are you okay, honey?”

“I’m fine!” she called back, but she gritted her teeth at the tremor in her voice, and knew she sounded far from fine.

“Natalie, open the door.” His voice was soft, gentle, but there was a command in there that made her feel guilty just thinking about not following.

She sucked in a lungful of air and tried to compose her features.

“Natalie!” Steve called, more urgently now.

She opened the bathroom door and stared up at Steve.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said instantly, and she fought back a grimace that her attempt to appear normal had obviously failed.

“I’m just not feeling well.” It wasn’t a lie exactly, and she knew Steve believed her without hesitation. He pulled her into his arms, a hand on her forehead, and then he was scooping her up and placing her back in bed.

“I’ll go get you something,” he told her, before fixing the blankets around her and heading out of the room.

She watched him go, her body still warm and buzzing from where he had touched her, and then leaned her head back against the pillow, closing her eyes in shame.

Fuck. Clint was right. She really was in love with Steve freaking Rogers.


End file.
